


(Don’t Fear) The Reaper

by casinmyimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Serial Killer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Smut, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, Tumblr, serial killer au, some fluff later on, will add tags as it goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-12 04:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casinmyimpala/pseuds/casinmyimpala
Summary: Dean Winchester is battling his arch nemesis Castiel Novak over... security cameras? They fight to be crowned the serial killer of the century, but a lot more is going on behind the scenes than meets the eye...





	1. Kill The Man

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! welcome to my first work on ao3! i’m an experienced writer but have just now decided to post on ao3! apologies if this first chapter is a bit short, but if this story picks up some steam i’ll definitely add much longer chapters. enjoy, and please leave feedback in the comments! thanks!

Dean doesn’t like Castiel Novak. I mean, he really hates the guy. He hates how he steals his thunder every time he kills someone fresh and new, he hates how Castiel taunts him over the news, he hates everything about him. And that’s why he’s gotta kill him.

 

Dean clenches his fists as he glares through narrowed eyes at his rugged television, wanting so badly to punch the smug face staring back at him. ‘Castiel Novak: The Winged Killer’ flashes across the bottom of the screen accompanied by a particularly charming photo of him. Come on,Dean’s nickname is way cooler than that. What can beat Black Bandit?

 

He scoffs when the overplayed security tape of the man standing in a massacre of blood and bodies is shown yet again. Castiel looks at the carnage around him, laughs, then looks at the camera with a maniacal grin on his face. And Dean knows damn well who it was for. He grumbles and flicks the tv off, tossing the remote on the couch beside him. It was a bold move to go after such a prominent political figure, but no props will ever be given from Dean’s lips.

 

He feels like a damn fool letting himself get toyed around like that by some... some dickhead in a trench coat! Sure, it’s entertaining for the viewers to watch their little game of ‘I’m a better serial killer and here’s why,’ but Dean can’t have that forever. There has to be a victor at some point, and that’s going to be him. Juggling a beer and his favorite knife, he lifts up from his armchair and heads for a locked door down the hall. Dean grins as he jiggles the key in the door’s lock, knowing that what he has planned will surely make him number one again. Castiel Novak will eat his words with that pretty mouth, those beautiful lips, his hotter than hell jaw, his — no! Dean shakes his head, mentally scolding himself as he shoves the creaky door wide open.

 

“Sorry, had to take care of something,” Dean mumbles to the man tied up, fiddling with his knife as he closes the door. The guy yells into the rag shoved in his mouth, eyes bulging with terror and confusion. Dean trots over to the video camera set up in front of his latest victim and pokes at the buttons. He still can barely figure out how to work these new-fangled devices.

 

“Dude, you’re gonna be a star after this, I swear,” he says giddily. Humming to himself, he presses the ‘play’ button and skips in front of the lense.

 

“Hi, there, Castiel!” He jollies. Dean waves with a charming grin. “It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?” He makes a point to hide the bonded man with his body until the right time.

 

“You see, I noticed you’ve been getting a lot of media coverage during our little game. I respect your sportsmanship, but it’s time that I make a move. Castiel-,” he says, sliding out of the way to reveal the victim, “meet Balthazar!” Dean rips out the rag keeping him quiet. Oh, how he loves being a showman!

 

“Cassie! You’ve gotta get me out of here, man!” He wails with a shaky voice. Dean rolls his eyes. It’s always the same thing with his victims; ‘help,’ this, ‘get me out of here, man,’ that. It gets very tiring.

 

“Save your breath. You’ll be long dead before this tape gets out.” Dean pulls a chair from the wall and sits next to Balthazar.

 

“For those of you tuning in from your living rooms, Balthazar is a dear friend of Castiel. Or, was. He’s gonna be dead pretty soon, and you’ll be here to see it in action!” Dean lets out a cheer and a whoop, jumping from his seat and doing a jig.

 

“You’re fucking insane! You’re out of your gourd!” Balthazar shrieks, tears streaming down his bloodied and bruised cheeks. The ropes bonding his wrists and feet creak and strain with every struggled movement. Dean’s face drops and he comes up behind Balthazar, swinging his hand into the side of his face. He shuts up.

 

“You’re probably wondering how i’m gonna execute this. See what i did there?” Dean pulls out a Texas Patterson 1836. “I’m gonna kill him with this. I call her The Colt. She’s my favorite. Boom, right here in the temple.” He places the cold tip of the revolver against Balthazar’s right temple, eliciting a fearful whimper from his victim. Dean cocks it back.

 

“So, Castiel Novak, if you wish to play dirty, I’ll play dirty. I’ll play dirty,” he says. Dean spits on the floor, poises the gun, and prepares to off the most important victim he’s captured. Dean is thrilled.

 

“Please, I’m begging yo — “ A gunshot echoes through the small, dank room followed by a sickening spatter of blood across half the area. Balthazar crumples like a rag doll in his chair with eyes wide open and full of frozen fear. Dean can just hear the shocked screams of the viewers back home. CNN is going to love this.

 

“I hope you’ve made amends, or whatever, because Balthazar is presently gonzo. It’s game on, bitch. Winchester out,” Dean concludes, grinning ear to ear before stopping the camera.


	2. A Game Of Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gabe, nobody calls me a bitch and gets away with it. Come on, you’ve always been by my side. Now that Balthazar is belly up somewhere in Dean’s backyard, you’re all I have left!” Castiel shouts. Sure, he has to exaggerate a bit to get Gabriel on board, but who doesn’t twist their own words every now and again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got so excited, i couldn’t wait to write the next chapter. it’s a bit longer than the last one so i hope you enjoy!

_‘We interrupt this program with breaking news. Infamous eastern Virginia serial killer Dean Winchester has claimed yet another victim. And not just any victim; Castiel Novak’s friend and fellow partner in crime, Balthazar Roché.’_

 

Castiel drops his wooden spoon, spattering a good amount of red sauce on his stove and apron. He can feel his face reddening in anger and disbelief and he races to the front of his television. This cannot be real.

 

_‘An anonymous sender, presumed to be the Black Bandit himself, has sent CNN, as well as multiple other new stations, a home video of his latest kill. Warning: the following is considered to be extremely graphic.’_

 

Castiel’s heart races as he stares straight into his nemesis’ face, smiling smugly and swaying on his feet as if there weren’t a care in the world. He digs his nails into the scratchy couch.

 

_‘Hi there, Castiel!’_ He hears. Castiel sees red at the sound of his name passing through Dean’s lips. He loves to toy with him, oh he does, but he hates it with all of his heart when Dean is successful. The guy’s a mastermind. He was able to get up close and personal to Castiel and it frustrates him terribly. He thought that killing that senator would be the cherry on top, oh was he wrong.

 

Is it wrong to see Balthazar with a gun to his head and feel nothing? While they were indeed partners in crime, as said by CNN, Castiel didn’t much care for him. Hell, he probably would’ve killed him himself if it weren’t for Dean. It feels almost as if a weight were cut from his shoulders; Balthazar did always hold him back. Emotions ran far too high whenever they hit a house with sensitive victims and it threw him completely off. But Castiel is nothing if not loyal.

 

_‘You’re probably wondering how I’m gonna execute this. See what I did there?’_ Castiel scoffs, prepared to skip ahead to the meat of the video, until something catches his eye. He’s already thinking of a way to get back at Dean.

 

_‘I’m gonna kill him with this. I call her The Colt. She’s my favorite.’_ Castiel leans forward and clasps his fingers, then reaching for the remote to pause right at that perfect moment. The gun shimmers in the dimly lit room, giving off a sinister vibe for such a little weapon. Castiel almost laughs.

 

“His favorite, hm?” He mutters, admiring the design and build of the little gun. He’s tempted to call Gabriel. He’ll definitely need some back-up to get his hands on that baby. “Well, maybe I’ll need to pull a good old fashioned robbery.” Castiel can just picture it: plugging that piece into the temple of some poor sap, maybe his brother? Father? No, he’s dead. What if he dug him up? His mind runs rampant with potential ideas and it gets his adrenaline pumping like it does before a hunt.

 

“Cas? What’s the burning smell?” A voice mumbles from across the hall. Oh shit. He leaps from his seat on the couch and dives for his dinner, which is now a regal shade of black. Castiel shuts off the oven and fans at the black smoke with a dish towel. How long has he been mulling over in his head?

 

“Woah, is that Balthazar?” Gabriel asks. He’s standing at the edge of the hallway rubbing his eyes.

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“And is that Dean Winchester?”

 

“Yes, it is,” Castiel groans, scraping what’s left of his dinner into the garbage. He pulls off his mucked up apron and tosses it on the floor. He’s so tired of hearing about Dean Winchester. He’ll have to get this done, and get this done fast.

 

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Gabriel questions, sounding far too nonchalant for someone who is watching their friend die at the hands of his enemy. Well, Castiel’s enemy.

 

He raps his fingers on the counter. “You’re awful curious today,” he mentions. Gabriel shrugs and lays on his stomach, kicking his feet.

 

“I’m still fired up after we got that senator and her posse back in that campaign office. Can we do something fun?” He whines, begging with his hands and eyes. Gabriel is too much, sometimes.

 

“I’ve got something in mind,” Castiel says, trotting over to the television and pressing play. The video resumes and the gun presses against Balthazar’s head. Castiel never thought he could be more of a wuss. He was never built for this life, anyway. Castiel almost feels bad for him. “I wanna swipe that gun, right there. I wanna kill someone special with it, like his brother or that other one.”

 

“You want to grab an itty-bitty gun from Dean Winchester’s own house? Have you eaten any of what you just burned? Because you sound completely, as Balthazar says, out of your gourd.” Gabriel waves Castiel off. Dean is currently smiling crazily at the camera, looking about ready to kill his tortured victim already. Gosh, it seems like this video is 5 hours long or something. “Besides, I kind of like his brother. I think we should leave him alone.”

 

“Are you crazy? It’s who he loves most! And of course I’m willing! Dean isn’t all that he’s cracked up to be, y’know!” Castiel rambles, waving his arms around defensively. A gunshot sounds from the television, signaling Balthazar’s imminent demise. “Finally, poor bastard.”

 

“Come on! Why don’t you two just zip up and put the rulers away for once? Let’s go out like the old days, back when you didn’t always have to compete with that Dean Winchester.” Gabriel slumps in his seat, still watching the end of the video. Dean sheathes the gun and saunters forward.

 

_‘I hope you’ve made amends, or whatever, because Balthazar is presently gonzo. It’s game on, bitch. Winchester out,’_ Dean says before the video cuts out. Gabriel mutes the television and tosses the remote aside.

 

“Gabe, nobody calls me a bitch and gets away with it. Come on, you’ve always been by my side. Now that Balthazar is belly up somewhere in Dean’s backyard, you’re all I have left!” Castiel shouts. Sure, he has to exaggerate a bit to get Gabriel on board, but who doesn’t twist their own words every now and again?

 

“We both know you hated that guy. His death is the best thing to happen so far!”

 

“Until I kill Dean Winchester, that is.” Castiel swings over to Gabriel’s side, his hand on his brother’s shoulder endearingly. “Do it for your sweet brother?”

 

“You know I can’t say no to a little adventure, little bro. We’ll give it a shot,” he responds. Gabriel absolutely spoils Castiel, and he couldn’t care less. They’ve been handing out Colombian neckties together since they were tweens, they won’t stop for anything.

 

Castiel immediately begins to plot his next move. Getting into Dean Winchester’s house definitely won’t be as easy as Castiel is making it out to be; he just said that to get Gabe on his side. Dean could never suspect Castiel waltzing right up to his front door, so that may be a small advantage. Gabe could distract Dean with some witty banter since he isn’t as well known as Castiel, but Dean does his research. There isn’t one thing that he doesn’t know about The Winged Killer.

 

After chatting for a few more moments and rewatching the home video a couple more times, they both retire to their respective quarters and prepare for bed. Castiel, on the other hand, doesn’t plan on sleeping anytime soon. He needs to make his next move before Dean racks up anymore brownie points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, make sure you leave a comment and a kudos!
> 
> -vic


	3. Meet And Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You won’t, I know you. You’ll let me go, watching my ass the whole time as I strut straight through your front door. Then we’ll go through all of this again,” he sneers, lifting his chin arrogantly to exude confidence and cockiness. Anything to hide the fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m honestly so happy that my dinky little story got over 159 freaking hits, THANK YOU!! please let me know what i can do to make this story better because i’m always open to suggestions. enjoy!!
> 
> edit: my cousin asked me about the supernatural meet and greet i’m going to and i panicked bc i thought he was talking about this chapter lmao

It took a day or two of meticulous planning, most of which was wasted by Gabriel giggling about cats and candy, before they felt that they were ready to put their plan into gear. They spent a few hours looking around neighborhood after neighborhood to find a home that had a basement that resembled the one in the video, and they found it. It’s actually quite comfortable; a beautiful old farmhouse in the depths of Middlesex, Virginia with an actual flower garden. No wonder the police can’t find the place, it’s surrounded by miles of corn and soy fields, but Dean needs to be a bit more sneaky to pull one over on ole Cas and Gabe. They’ve memorized all of Dean’s unique mannerisms through his many home videos and have his schedule down pat. He should be at his night job by now.

 

The lock pick sits chilly in Castiel’s fingers as he prepares to break his way in to his next move in this social media battle. He’s going to win this, if there even is a way to win. Castiel can almost feel the weight of The Colt in his hands and the blood on his fingers of one of the most interesting murders he’s partaken in. He simply can’t wait to see what’s next!

 

“Gabe, hurry. Robberies aren’t as easy as they look on television,” he whispers, feeling like a cartoonish villain from Looney Toons. He may as well be on his tiptoes and devilishly hunched over. Castiel considers thievery such as this to be beneath him, but this is quite necessary. “And don’t leave me behind if this thing goes south. We get the hell out of Dodge together.”

 

“No promises,” Gabriel responds. Castiel disregards him and inserts the pick into the front door lock. It’s likely that Dean will be gone a while, though his work schedule is quite random and unpredictable. It’s likely due to his ‘extracurricular activities.’ Castiel isn’t very versed in hand-to-hand combat, so he hopes he doesn’t run into him. Dean looks muscled and trained in the videos he makes for Castiel, unlike himself. His trench coat and his multiple layers hide his slim build from the world.

 

After about 10 minutes of furious jiggling, the lock clicks and Castiel turns the handle ever so gently, trying hard not to creak the old door’s hinges. Suddenly, a deafening crash from behind. He turns back and gives Gabriel a pointed look as he sees a knocked-over potted plant on Dean’s front steps.

 

“Sorry...” He says, looking guiltily at the toppled pot.

 

“You’d better hope Dean is far away from here, or else you just handed our asses to the guy.” Castiel turns back to the small expanse of a house in front of him, laid out almost as if it were just for him. This all seems too perfect, too easy. Maybe it’s a trap...

 

Castiel sets a foot through Dean’s front door and steps hard to test how creaky it is. Not a sound. “Maybe you should scout the place first, just in case we missed something.”

 

Gabriel pats his back. “Hell no, brother! What if you get cracked in the back of the head and I’m not there to help you?” He pushes ahead and flops onto the soft, big couch that sat in front of an elderly television. “This Dean guy’s living the lavish life!”

 

Castiel scoffs and steps further towards the room he presumes is Dean’s bedroom. If The Colt is anywhere, it’s there. The door handle is made of worn brass with a lock at the bottom. When he turns it, it appears to be unlocked.

 

“Bad move, Winchester,” Castiel mumbles as he shoves past the door and takes in his surroundings. Upon first glance, the room is... barren. The walls are white and chipped and the dressers are open and empty, save for a few flannels and pairs of underwear. The entire place gives Castiel the heebie jeebies. Nothing particular catches his eye, nothing except a picture frame holding a worn photo. Upon further inspection, Castiel sees that it’s a picture of a little boy and his mother.

 

“Is that Dean...?”

 

A gun clicks.

 

“Yes. It is,” a low, angry voice sounds from behind. Castiel freezes and his blood runs cold. Crap. He wonders where his brother is, if he’s ok.

 

“Gabrie-!”

 

“If you call out, I’ll shoot you,” the gruff voice of none other than Dean Winchester says. “There’s no one around for miles.” Castiel shuts his mouth, silently cursing his brother’s invisible courage. He could be long gone by now. Fear and frustration paralyze his muscles and his body refuses to respond to what his brain is telling him.

 

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house, don’t shoot!” Castiel plays, knowing damn well that Dean isn’t that stupid. Dean might as well know Castiel down to his naughty bits after how many times they’ve seen each other on the news.

 

Dean spits. “Yeah, right. And I’m fucking Santa Claus. I know who the hell you are. You’re the guy I’ve been eye-fucking on tv since 2013.” That sentence causes Castiel to sputter to a complete stop.

 

“Eye-fucking?” He says, shocked. Sure, maybe his demeanor comes off as flirty to some, but he would never describe it like that. Playful banter exchanged non-verbally is more like it.

 

“You heard me. And I absolutely would have taken you up on your offer, except you’ve kinda broken into my house with your cowardly brother, who happens to be nowhere in sight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

 

“Not a clue. He’s a squirrelly bastard. You may be in luck though, he has a thing for your brother.” Dean scuffs his boot against the hardwood floor, huffing under his breath. He probably should have left out that last part.

 

“I’m getting real sick of your shit, Novak. You stepped foot in the wrong house.” The man steps forward, pressing the cold gun against the back of Castiel’s head. He never thought he’d be on the other end of the gun he was trying to steal. The irony of all this is almost colder than The Colt’s muzzle. “I mean, what were you hoping to get out of this little journey? Fresh-baked cookies?”

 

Castiel tries to motion with his body as he speaks. “I was hoping to swipe that little pea-shooter of yours, actually. But it seems that might not happen just yet.”

 

Dean pauses for a moment, as if pondering why on earth Castiel would want to do that. Silence spreads through the empty room, making his ears ring.

 

“Fight or flight?” Dean finally says. Castiel scrunches his nose.

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. Fight or flight?” Dean asks, his footsteps closing in. The gun remains cocked and pressed firmly into the thick hair on the back of his head. Now that Castiel thinks of it, this was an all out bad plan. Honestly, he’s smarter than this. It was stupid of him to think that Dean would let his guard down for even a minute especially when tensions are this high. “The human body reacts in two ways when faced with danger. They fight, or run. I’m gonna assume that you would rather run, am I right?”

 

He clenches his fists, regaining his muscle function. “I’m no coward, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ll take you any day.”

 

“Turn around,” Dean commands. Castiel doesn’t respond, earning him a cold tap to the shoulder with his gun. “I’m not gonna ask again, man. Turn the hell around.”

 

When they meet face to face for the first time, it’s nothing like either of them could have ever imagined. Dean is close, but keeping his respectable distance in case Castiel tries something. He can see the subtle stubble on Dean’s angered face, the green of his flaming eyes, the slight wrinkles by his furrowed brows, the sweat covering his forehead and neck; he can even smell the cologne on his shirt.

 

Dean maintains eye contact as he shoves Castiel into the dresser with brute force, effectively knocking the air out of his body and bruising his lower back. He hisses as the pain shoots through his bones. Castiel grits his teeth and swallows when Dean presses his forearm against his throat. The Colt is now by his temple.

 

“I could kill you right now. One pop,” Dean mumbles, making a popping sound with his lips, “and you’ll be done for.” Castiel knows how bullshit that threat was. Knowing that, he’s still scared of if his fucking mind. But even from here, he can tell how much fun Dean is having playing the game of cat and mouse. Who’s the mouse?

 

He can feel Dean’s breath close to his face, hot and smelling of minty toothpaste. Castiel’s heart pounds with a substantial mixture of fear and arousal, both caused by being so close to Dean. Maybe Castiel just likes to be manhandled.

 

“You won’t, I know you. You’ll let me go, watching my ass the whole time as I strut straight through your front door. Then we’ll go through all of this again,” he sneers, lifting his chin arrogantly to exude confidence and cockiness. Anything to hide the fear.

 

Dean growls. “Shut your damn mouth.”

 

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Castiel challenges, glaring daggers through his opponent’s flaming eyes. His nostrils are flared like an indignant bull prepared to charge, huffing and puffing ruthlessly. Dean pushes forward and presses his face ruthlessly against Castiel’s in an angry but heated kiss. The gun that threatened his life clicks and drops onto the dresser behind him, that now free hand roughly palming Castiel’s hair and tugging the strands hard. This elicits a strangled moan to escape from his mouth, muffled by Dean’s own. Before Castiel can really get things going, Dean yanks back. His chest is heaving with arousal after the heated kiss and his lips are pink and swollen. Dean’s hair is equally as messy as Castiel’s.

 

“You don’t know me, Novak. Say some cocky shit like that again and maybe I will empty one in your head.” Dean doesn’t stop there. “Or maybe I’ll shoot one in your gut, right below your lungs so you’ll bleed out slowly and painfully through your stomach. Maybe I’ll beat you nice and good before finally putting you out of your misery with a knife to your throat. I could do things unimagina-“ A hard object conks into the side of his head and he drops like a sack of potatoes. Behind him stands Gabriel, wielding a large vase and a frightened expression. After they both realize that Dean Winchester isn’t getting up any time soon, Gabe lets out a breath and drops the weapon.

 

“Dude, _what the hell_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy oh boy this chapter was longer that the last one! wonder what will happen next? ;)
> 
> -vic


	4. Chapter 4: Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Currently, the brothers are gracelessly dragging Dean away from the scene. It wouldn’t be peachy if he were to wake up with no restraints. That could result in another impromptu meet up, and neither of them want that. Castiel fumes at Gabriel for continuing on the topic of the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i originally wasn’t going to continue this story, but i’ve been getting such good comments! they drove me to finish the draft i had in my notes. i have a surprise at the end for y’all as a little apology ;)
> 
> -vic

“Dude, I know you don’t get out that often, but _come on_ ,” Gabe chides, grunting and tugging Dean by his arms through the doorway, Castiel on the other side with his feet in hand. As it turns out, Gabriel didn’t ditch him when shit hit the fan. He stood nearby and watched, large vase in hand, waiting for the right time to strike. Castiel had called him a chicken for cowering behind the door frame, but Gabe disagreed wholeheartedly.

 

Currently, the brothers are gracelessly dragging Dean away from the scene. It wouldn’t be peachy if he were to wake up with no restraints. That could result in another impromptu meet up, and neither of them want that. Castiel fumes at Gabriel for continuing on the topic of the kiss.

 

“Damn you, Gabe. It’s not like I planned for that to happen,” he responds. Dean’s shirt catches on a loose nail on the floor and Gabe yanks hard, effectively ripping the fabric.

 

“It’s like some shitty YA novel. You couldn’t have picked a worse time to get your rocks off, you know that?” Castiel doesn’t respond. What could he say? Gabe is right, in a sense. Castiel could have protested, fought, bitten Dean until he left him alone, but he didn’t. Perhaps all of that pent up anger had to come out somehow. Castiel purses his lips and tightens his grip on Dean’s shoes.

 

“Shut up. Let’s just tie Dean up, grab the gun, and go,” he says with finality. “Don’t have to make this anymore troubling than it should be.”

 

Gabriel nods, surprisingly in agreement. The two find the sturdiest chair they could find and hoist the man’s unconscious body in a sitting position. Now for rope.

 

“Did you bring any?” Castiel asks.

 

“Man, I thought you did!”

 

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Gabriel is a complicated man, but he is helpful on occasion. One being the Dean situation.

 

“It’s alright. We’ll find something. We just have to go fast, before the fucker wakes up,” Castiel says. Gabe nods and begins rustling through the drawers to find something even remotely rope-like. Castiel reaches into the recesses of his memory to find one clue from his extensive research that would help him now. Going, going, gone! The basement! Dean is bound to have some rope among other gruesome things down there. He calls to Gabriel that he will be back, and searches for the basement door.

 

Kicking up every rug and odd looking carpet patch he can find, Castiel is delighted to find a trap door underneath the rug in his living room. The hatch creaks when yanked on and opens stubbornly to reveal the stench of death and dust. This will be fun, Castiel thinks. He has to physically stop himself from dry heaving into the abyss. He plunges a foot down into the entrance and begins his trek.

 

The dark, dank basement reeks of many swirling smells and nearly causes Castiel to retch right there. The hell does Dean keep in this place?

 

He reaches a hand to the wall and pats for a light switch that will aid him in his journey, but to no avail. Dean is damn good at hiding things, Castiel will admit that much. Luckily for him, he came prepared and pulls a flashlight from his duffle bag and clicks it on. Castiel is appalled at the sight before him.

 

The purple, decayed face of Balthazar sits propped against the chipped wall. His mouth hangs agape, teeth yellow and tongue lolled out. A substantial hole is where his left ear should be from the bullet of the gun Castiel currently held in his clammy hands. He is still wearing the clothes he wore when Castiel and him met up last before...

 

He heaves into his hand, but nothing comes up. He must leave no trace of his presence down here, that may give Dean more of an incentive to kill him. Other than him stealing The Colt, of course.

 

Castiel wrenches the flashlight from Balthazar’s blank face. Why didn’t Castiel ever appreciate the man? It’s like the pain of death had suddenly punched him in the gut. Balthazar was a special friend, no matter how incompetent he seemed. He didn’t deserve this, to rot in the basement surrounded by death and decay in his killer’s home. His hatred and detestation for Dean only grows stronger with every passing thought, every beat of his heart. The man has to pay.

 

As he looks around the grotesque room further, Castiel discovers more haunted faces surrounding him. Some look familiar, others don’t ring a bell. Not even Castiel would be this cruel...

 

With anger pulsing through his blood, he bounds up the stairs, slams the door hatch, and powers into the room that Gabriel perused for rope. The door flips open and Gabe is slightly surprised at his brother’s demeanor.

 

“Hey, dude, I have extension cord but it’s not really-“

 

“Gabe, I’ve changed my mind. We need to up the ante,” Castiel seethes.

 

“Why?” Gabe asks. “What happened?”

 

Castiel clenches his hands.

 

“It’s not important. All I know is we need to take something of Dean’s that will ruin him forever. We need Sam.”

 

—

 

His hands touch every part of Dean, the tan, gruff hands of his arch nemesis stroking him up and down. Dean always wanted this to happen in his mind. He would never admit that, not even to Sam. Especially not to Sam. Who would admit to their brother and partner in crime that they had sexual feelings towards the man that had started this whole complicated ordeal? That’s right, no one.

 

Dean moans and grips Castiel’s shoulders and he keeps grinding, stroking, and biting. The feel of his weight on his body is orgasmic, pressing down on his on the soft sheets of the hotel bed. They are hot and heavy, groaning into each other’s mouths in between every messy kiss.

 

“How do you feel, Dean? How does it feel to be beneath me, vulnerable and at my will?” Castiel whispers into Dean’s ear, stubble scratching his ear in the best way possible. All that fills the room is their gruff moans and groans, the most vulgar sounds a human can make. Hell, this is almost better than murder.

 

“I-“ Dean starts, getting cut off my his crashing....

 

He is ripped from the wet dream like awakening from a cold bath. His clothes are damp and he is covered in sweat, groin aching. Is he in his bedroom? In a chair?

 

Wait...

 

“Dammit! Fuck!” Dean shouts, tugging at the strong restraints at his wrists. His arms are twisted uncomfortably behind his back and he struggles to free himself from this trap.

 

“Castiel!!” He yells in vain. It’s definitely no use calling for him now, they must be long gone with The Colt in hand along with their smug smiles. Dean hits his head against the dresser his chair is propped against and tries to sort his thoughts. Specifically, those thoughts.

 

“No... not now,” he whispers, maneuvering his fingers to unravel the extension cord. Luckily, this knot seems to be a purposely temporary one. Why would Castiel be that courteous? He must be up to something.

 

Taking one final yank, Dean is finally freed of the rubbery restraints and able to deal with his... problem.

 

“Aw, hell...” Dean catches his breath and looks down at the hard, painful bulge in his pants. Shit, the dream. Castiel’s neck, the sweat coating his tanned skin and toned chest, it’s a work of art. Dean closes his eyes and puts himself back into the dream, his hand on his pants.

 

Castiel grinds his hard-on into Dean’s groin and revels in the whiny moan he elicits, drinking it in. Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head, man. Castiel buries his face into his neck and nips, bites, sucks...

 

“Fuck...!” Dean sighs, pulling his hand from his now spoiled trousers. He feels a new wave of shame fall over his face and makes a run for the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be sure to leave suggestions and such! see ya!  
> -vic

**Author's Note:**

> comment ideas for what the next chapter should hold!
> 
> -vic


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